


All Was Well In The World

by ethanchristopher



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale and Crowley Through The Ages (Good Omens), Crowley Has Long Hair (Good Omens), Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Fluff without Plot, Gentle Kissing, Gentleness, Hair Braiding, Kissing, Long Hair, Love, M/M, Memories, Mentioned Nanny Ashtoreth (Good Omens), Mentioned Warlock Dowling, Nanny Crowley (Good Omens), Romantic Fluff, Soft Aziraphale (Good Omens), Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:09:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27589345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ethanchristopher/pseuds/ethanchristopher
Summary: Lying in bed as the early morning sun creeps through the window, Aziraphale begins to braid Crowley’s hair.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 38





	All Was Well In The World

It had been a significant amount of time since Crowley had so wholly and completely let his guard down. Yet as he laid in Aziraphale’s bed, bare chest against silk sheets and cheek pressed to a pillow, eyes closed to avoid the rising sun pooling in from the window, he felt safer than he had in millennia.

Aziraphale laid next to him, the angel resting propped up on his elbow comfortably. Crowley sighed contentedly as Aziraphale’s soft, methodical hands combed through his hair.

It had been roughly 4,410 years since Crowley’s hair had been such a substantial length but he had decided he needed a change. After all, the not-pocalypse can change a person, and although Crowley was not human and could not grow out his hair as he pleased, he was capable of miraculously swapping hairstyles in the same fashion in which he was capable of changing the course of a nazi bomb (that is to say, entirely capable).

Soft morning light was flitting through the blinds onto their sleepy forms, the glow it cast on Crowley igniting his fiery locks and only encouraging Aziraphale to continue running his hands through indulgently. They each gave a contented sigh and Aziraphale began separating the hair into three equal sections.

“May I, my dear?” he requested with quiet intonation.

With a little release of breath and a, “Sure, angel,” Crowley inched closer to Aziraphale and tugged the blanket up over his shoulder. He knew the warmth of his angel, the warmth of the sunlight glancing his face, and the warmth still trapped in the blankets would gracefully allow him to fall back asleep.

Those fond methodical movements through Crowley’s hair became fonder still, taking those three strands of red and crossing them over one another. Aziraphale tried to remember those times he’s seen Crowley in such a position, braiding his own hair. Oh, how he had longed to braid it for the demon then, as well.

Aziraphale allowed himself to reminisce for a moment, eyes closing. Once, when Warlock was six years old. Himself in the garden tending to a rose bush, eyeing a window of the Dowling’s home. Aziraphale watched as Nanny Ashtoreth sauntered in front of the glass, young Warlock following closely behind only to leave Aziraphale’s sight, likely sitting with his legs crossed and staring up at Nanny with stars in his eyes. Crowley’s slender hands reached up to remove hat, then bobby pins, tight curls falling daintily.

Those nimble fingers combed through with practice, lips curled into a smile and moving methodically in what must have been a story or lullaby. Aziraphale knew as a nanny, that must be part of the job description, but still chuckled at the thought of Crowley humming soft songs as Warlock drifted into sleep.

Ever so carefully, Crowley began to braid. Pulling the hair around to reach it easier, it was quick and tidy work. Aziraphale found himself mesmerized watching those hands lay each section on top of another, creating the neat and simple red braid. Tying the end with an elastic, Crowley finished fiddling with the hair and placed the hat atop the new style.

Realizing he must have been staring for far too long, Aziraphale snapped out of the trance and tried to focus on the roses in front of him. As he worked, then on his journey home, and long into the night, Aziraphale imagined running his own hands through Crowley’s hair. Delightful. Sinful.

Thinking further back, the thought dawned on Aziraphale that he had memories of Crowley as far back as Eden. Memories of seeing the wily snake’s more human form for the first time, seeing that furious fiery red. He recalls watching silently, hidden behind a tree, as Crowley fiddled with the hair. At first, attempting to push it up in some sort of makeshift bun. When that endeavor failed, next the demon tried twisting the hair, anything to make it more manageable. Still displeased, he then began a sort of weaving motion, which quickly turned into a sort of sloppy braid. Admittedly messy, but not too shabby for Earth’s first braid, if the demon did say so himself.

From behind that tree, the angel found himself wondering how it should feel under his own hands. Surely, if the demon showed him what he had done, he could make a tidier version of that beautiful weaving hairstyle. Such a thought stayed in his mind for many millennia.

Aziraphale briefly wonders if She made Crowley’s form so beautiful merely to tempt him. _Well, it surely worked_ , he chuckled to himself.

Under his touch, Crowley shifted in sleep slightly. Never, thought Aziraphale, had he ever seen Crowley so contented. Or any demon so contented, for that matter.

His careful hands finished the braid, intricate, beautiful, and tied with a small elastic Aziraphale had fished out of his bedside table. Smiling, he admired his work. Smiling still, he admired Crowley.

The sun’s careful rays leaked in from the window and shone on Crowley’s face. As it reached that shock of red, the light seemed to dance against his features. Aziraphale had been to Heaven, he had seen some of the holiest artifacts known to man and yet here in his bed was the heavenliest sight he had ever laid eyes on. It was enough to make even the strongest man misty-eyed and Aziraphale had already succumbed to the tears.

The soft sniffle that followed was enough to rouse the demon, and he turned over, careful not to disturb the braid he was newly aware of.

“Angel? Ev’rythin’ alright?” he murmured, sleep in his voice.

Aziraphale couldn’t help but reach forward to cup Crowley’s face. He brushed a tender circle on the demon’s cheek, pulling forward to press a gentle kiss to his lips.

“Everything is perfect, my dear.”

That reply was certainly enough for Crowley, who curled back up against his angel. He was quickly asleep once again. Aziraphale wrapped his arms around him, pressing another kiss atop his head. He ran a hand carefully along the braid, admiring the beautiful red locks once more. Drifting off to sleep himself, Aziraphale knew all was well in the world.

**Author's Note:**

> god aziraphale is so fond and we love him for it. this isn’t as long as I would have hoped but I was tired of looking at it as a wip so here you go


End file.
